


Loyalty

by Whedonista93



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It of Sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:47:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24636310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whedonista93/pseuds/Whedonista93
Summary: Tyrion disagrees with Sansa's observation that they never would have worked.
Relationships: Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 10
Kudos: 143





	Loyalty

**Author's Note:**

> AKA - What if everyone just used some fucking common sense?

“Her people love her,” Tyrion tells Sansa. “You’ve seen that. You’ve seen how they fight for her. She wants to make the world a better place. I believe in her.” He takes a deep breath. “But I have believed in you longer, Sansa.”

Sansa looks at him, surprise evident in her blue eyes.

“So tell me, why do you distrust her? If not Daenerys or Cersei, then who?”

“What?”

Tyrion steps forward and holds out a hand, something like hope in his chest.

Sansa hesitates briefly, but takes it.

“You said I was the best of them.”

Sansa swallows and nods.

“Terrifying, as I said before.”

Sansa shrugs. “Still the truth.”

“I do disagree on one point, though.”

“And what’s that?”

“We would have worked. We  _ can  _ work.”

“Daenerys-”

“Is my queen, but not my wife. We may not have chosen our match, Sansa, but my loyalty was to you first, and that means something. To me, at least. When it comes right down to it, my loyalty is really not that divided.”

“You would choose me over her?”

Tyrion closes his eyes, then opens them again and nods.

“I need to  _ hear _ it, Tyrion,” Sansa tells him, voice cracking.

“I would choose you, Sansa. I  _ do _ choose you. As long as you’ll have me.”

“What about her?” She nods toward the dragons circling Winterfell.

Tyrion shrugs. “Mormont is back. She can make him her Hand.”

“Just like that?”

“Probably not. You still haven’t answered my question.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“A word, your Grace?”

Daenerys inclines her chin.

Tyrion sets his hand pin on the table in front of her.

She raises one dark brow. “What’s the meaning of this?”

He takes a deep breath. “You are surrounded by wise counsel, your Grace, and if you could see fit to release me, I would stay in Winterfell with my wife.”

Her other brow raises to join the first.

Tyrion lets out a mirthless chuckle. “Only the gods know why, but she has deigned to keep me as her husband.”

Daenerys tilts her head curiously. “You care for her?”

“Despite our start and our differences, I do.”

“That is something I understand,” the Dragon Queen smiles sadly.

Tyrion nods. “I thought you might. I am not a fighter, your Grace. And I can provide you all the information you need about King’s Landing before you leave.”

“And when the Lady of the North refuses to bend the knee?”

“Is Jon Snow not Lord of the North?”

“We both know he’ll stay in King’s Landing.”

Tyrion sighs. “The North was an independent kingdom for many centuries, and yet maintained a strong alliance with the kingdoms of Westeros. That  _ is _ an option to entertain, your Grace.”

“Is that a recommendation as my Hand, or as your Lady wife’s husband?”

Tyrion shrugs. “Can’t it be both?”

“Can it?”

Sansa reaches out for her brother’s arm. “Jon?”

Jon turns with a tired smile. “Sansa.”

“Can I have a word?”

“As many as you like.”

Sansa stops short. “Was that a joke?”

Jon shakes his head. “Why is everyone surprised when I make a joke?”

Sansa shrugs. “You’ve tended toward brooding your whole life, Jon.”

“Aye, suppose I have.”

By unspoken agreement, they find themselves at the heart tree.

“You’re angry with me,” Jon says quietly.

“No,” Sansa shakes her head, then frowns. “Well, yes.”

“She’s a good woman, Sansa, if you’d give her a chance.”

Sansa sighs. “Her motivations for the Iron Throne are selfish and weak. And for all she claims her intent is to free the people, she is willing to sacrifice too much. Look me in the eye and tell me you absolutely believe she won’t execute you if she decides you pose a threat.”

Jon hangs his head.

“You can’t. I am not willing to lose any more family, I am not willing to sacrifice any more Northmen, to the wars of Southron Lords.”

“It’s not your call,” Jon sighs. “But maybe it should be.”

“Jon?”

“I will travel to King’s Landing with Daenerys. I gave her my word. And I will take what Northern troops are willing, and  _ only _ those who are willing, with me. I do not know if she will listen to me, but I will ask the queen that she allow the North to retain its independence with you as it’s queen.”

“Me?”

“You,” Jon reaches out and takes her hands. “Sansa, no one understands or loves the North more than you. I can think of no one better to rule the North. They will accept you as their queen and an alliance with the Six Kingdoms far more easily than they will ever accept another Southron ruler.”

“And your queen?”

“I can only ask.”

“If she says no?”

“I don’t believe she will,” Tyrion’s voice interjects. They turn their heads to find him approaching them. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Sansa actually smiles at the dwarf. “Not at all, my Lord.”

“Lord Tyrion,” Jon greets. “Do you know something I don't?”

Tyrion laughs. “I imagine I know a great many things you don’t.”

“Have you misplaced your pin, my Lord?”

Tyrion grins. “I have not.”

“I asked Tyrion to stay in Winterfell,” Sansa says, voice shaking, “with me.”

Jon’s gaze jerks back to his sister. “Sansa?”

Sansa smiles, the expression as shaky as her voice, but her grip on Jon’s hands is steady and strong. “I won’t be used as a pawn again. I will not suffer another political mariage. This is my choice, Jon. Tyrion has never been anything but kind to me. He is still my husband, in the eyes of most laws and faiths, and if I accept him as such, none will question it. I asked him to stay,” she repeats. “As my husband.”

Jon gazes into her eyes, sees nothing but determination shining back at him. “You’re sure?”

Sansa nods. “I am.”

He turns back to Tyrion. “And Daenerys has accepted this?”

Tyrion shrugs. “She accepted my resignation as her Hand, and my marriage to Sansa. I believe she is still contemplating how to allow the North to secede without looking weak.”

Jon nods. “You hurt her, and I’ll kill you.”

“I’m not sure which of two women you’re speaking of, but,” Tyrion inclines his head. “I’ve no intention of doing any such thing, and I do believe we understand each other.”

Sansa takes Tyrion’s hand after the feast that night, and leads him to the master’s chambers - her chambers.

Tyrion looks up at her as she closes the door. “Sansa, I still will not force my way into your bed.”

Sansa shakes her head. “I’m inviting you, Tyrion. I know what you’re giving up, by staying here with me. I know what it cost you to choose me.”

“I will not have you as a reward for some sort of twisted loyalty.”

She smiles and shakes her head again. “I do not mean it to be.”

“Then what do you mean, Sansa? Because I find myself at a loss, and it is a sensation I find myself both unfamiliar and uncomfortable with.”

Sansa sheds her cloak, then kneels in front of him and takes his hands. “I meant what I told Jon, Tyrion. This is my choice.  _ You _ are my choice. I have suffered a cruel husband and marriage bed. I have smiled in the face of men who wanted nothing more than to fuck me and thought I was stupid enough to let them. You have always been kind to me and honest with me. It’s not a duty or a reward that leads me to invite you into my bed.”

Daenerys stands at the head of Winterfell’s great hall, head held high. “Lords and Ladies,” she begins. “After much deliberation and counsel, I have come to the decision to allow the secession of the North.” Murmurs fill the hall. “I will ask for an alliance, but I will not ask your monarch to bend the knee. The North has proven brave, fierce, loyal, strong, and true, and I would reward them for it.”

Jon stands. “You chose me as your king once. I do not ask you to choose me again. I will march south with Queen Daenerys, along with any Northmen  _ willing _ to join us. But there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. With your agreement, my Lords, I would leave you in the capable hands of my kin once again, this time as Queen in the North.”

Arya looks between Sansa and Tyrion with a devious smirk.

“Just spit it out already,” Sansa finally snaps.

Arya snickers. “What if your children are dwarves?”

“Then I pray they will be as clever as their father,” Sansa answers with no hesitation.

Arya's jaw drops. "Gods, you  _ actually _ took him into your bed."

"My marriage bed is none of your business, little sister, but yes, I did."

The wonder on Tyrion’s face makes Arya gag.


End file.
